


I'm Yours

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Traveling Man [40]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 18:02:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14836523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Written for the royals comment_fic prompt: "Stargate Atlantis, Evan Lorne/Ronon Dex, Evan as a prince and Ronon as a traveling bard."Ronon, the bard for John's traveling troupe of performers, plays music for the Prince of the Kingdom by the Sea.





	I'm Yours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SherlockianSyndromes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockianSyndromes/gifts).



Ronon had only been with John’s troupe of traveling performers for a few months, but already he had heard John’s tales of the Kingdom by the Sea too many times. The Kingdom by the Sea, John said, was beautiful. It was small, only several hundred people, but it was peaceful - neat houses with bright shutters and doors, swaying grass, carefully plowed fields, flowers in cultivated rows that were also riots of color, delicious food, sweet drinks, and friendly warmth. 

No one went hungry, all were treated fairly. It was a simple life, but a beautiful one. 

One night, while the five of them sat around the campfire, studying one of John and Rodney’s old worn maps and planning their route, Ronon said, 

“We can visit the Kingdom by the Sea.”

Rodney looked up. “What?”

Ronon pointed to the map. “We’re here. The Blue Mountains are here. We can visit the Kingdom by the Sea on the way.”

John’s eyes lit up. He launched into a story about riding the waves. Part of the Kingdom by the Sea was a stretch of pure white sand where a man could take a nap in the sun - or paddle out to the waves on a long wooden board and ride the waves. 

Rodney rolled his eyes, but Teyla and Aiden looked at each other, then nodded. The Genii in the Blue Mountains mined a certain ore that Rodney used in his illusions, and he was running low. 

“Come on,” John said. “You have enough for an extra show, right?”

“I do,” Rodney began. 

John clapped him on the arm. “Great. It’s settled.”

Rodney rolled his eyes again. 

John said, “Brilliant idea, Ronon. You’ll love it. The Kingdom by the Sea is -”

Beautiful. 

John hadn’t been exaggerating or overstating. They walked for three days across the Gold and Green Plains, dropped downward into a valley, and there was the Sea, blue and glittering in the sunlight. There was the strip of white beach, and nestled in the valley were a handful of cottages, each with brightly-painted shutters and doors, some with pens full of animals, others with fields of crops, yet others with orchards of fruit trees. 

And, of course, the flowers. Little bursts of color in window boxes, in corners of fields, beside animal pens and workshops. 

People moved among the houses, in the fields, through the grass. They all wore flowing clothes, handmade and homespun. Some wore soft colors, some wore bright colors. Some moved quickly about their business. Others meandered slowly, pausing to chat with each other, pet animals, smell flowers. All wore flowers in their hair. 

John led them down toward the nearest house where two children, both wearing crowns of flowers in their hair, were feeding some fowls. 

They both looked up. 

“John!” the smaller of them cried, breaking into an eager grin. 

The bigger child went to the house, knocked on the bright blue shutters. They swung open, and a woman, one old enough to be their mother, or perhaps an older aunt, leaned out the window. She had the same dark hair and dimpled smile as the children. She too wore a crown of flowers in her hair. 

“John,” she said, “welcome back.”

John, who’d knelt to greet the small child, straightened up. “Thank you.”

“Do you wish to perform, or are you merely passing by?”

“We are always glad to perform for you,” he said. 

“Then please, enter my home, take your rest, and we will gather the people.” The woman vanished from the window and then the front door of the cottage swung open. 

John bowed to her. “Thank you, Queen.”

But she laughed and drew him into an embrace, kissed him on both cheeks. “I’ve told you before - you can call me Lorna. Almost everyone does.”

“Almost,” John said. “I’m sure you remember my troupe - Teyla, Rodney, Aiden.”

Each of them bowed respectfully to Queen Lorna. 

“Ronon is new. He’s a bard.”

Ronon sketched a low bow. 

“Oh, please, none of that, we don’t stand on ceremony here.” Lorna caught his shoulders, tugged him upright. “Welcome, Ronon. We look forward to your songs.”

Then she stepped back, gestured for them to enter her home. 

Ronon didn’t know what to expect from the home of a queen. The troupe had performed for royalty before, in lavish palaces appointed with gold-veined marble and crystal chandeliers, in drafty stone castles with whitewashed walls and rushes and fur rugs strewn on the floors, perspiring in flickering torchlight.

Lorna’s home looked like an ordinary home - wooden furniture, some pieces more rough-hewn than others. Her kitchen was large, well-appointed. Judging by the pots and pans hanging from the ceiling and admirable collection of kitchen knives, Lorna - or someone in her household - enjoyed cooking.

A woman who looked like she could be Lorna’s daughter - the same thick, wavy dark hair, blue eyes, dimpled smile - greeted them, invited them to sit at the kitchen table. She offered them tea in lovely ceramic teacups that had been hand-painted with flowers.

Rodney and John sank gratefully into the chairs, as did Teyla and Aiden, but Ronon remained standing, still a little discomfited and wary.

Natalia, who John greeted as Princess, also wore a crown of dried woven flowers. She seemed familiar with John, friendly, but not at all flirtatious. She asked after all of them, inquired as to their health, their recent travels. Aiden described some of the places they’d been, the people they’d performed for.

Lorna bustled around the kitchen, fixed them up a plate of biscuits and several small pots of jam and cream. Rodney asked whether any of the jam had citrus. Lorna assured him it did not - she remembered how delicate his health was. 

“What provisions will you need while you’re here?” Lorna asked. “Places to stay, food to eat?”

Ronon was confused. “Usually we bunk in our tents.”

“But while you are here, all homes are welcome to you,” Lorna said.

Ronon wondered how her citizens felt about that, their queen volunteering their hospitality for perfect strangers. But then there was a knock, and Ronon turned. The two children scampered across the cottage and pulled open the shutters.

“Hello John, Rodney.” The man at the window had dark hair and blue eyes, a strong jaw, was perhaps a relative of Lorna’s.

“Carson,” Rodney said, a little flatly.

“A wee birdie told me you were back in these parts, and I thought I would come say hello and offer you respite at my home after your performance, if you so desire,” Carson said.

It took Ronon a moment, but then he remembered - Carson was a healer. Rodney, who was generally suspicious of healers despite his delicate health, spoke respectfully of Carson, which said something about him, because as far as Rodney was concerned, everyone in the world - save John, Teyla, and sometimes Aiden and Ronon - was an idiot.

“Carson,” a golden-haired woman said, joining him at the window, “don’t be so greedy. You’re welcome to stay at my house too, if you like.” The woman smiled brightly and added, “Rodney.”

Rodney cleared his throat. “Hello, Jennifer. That’s very kind of you, but -”

“But everyone here is always very kind,” Teyla broke in smoothly. “To properly appreciate everyone’s generosity, we will wait till all offers of respite have been made before we select lodging for the evening.”

“Of course,” Jennifer said.

While Ronon munched on the biscuits - they were buttery and flaky and delicious - random people showed up at the window to invite the troupe to stay with them for the night. Given how some of the locals looked at Rodney, John, Aiden, and Teyla, Ronon suspected that some of those invitations were to share beds, not just homes, but he said nothing. Rodney and John were dedicated to each other; Teyla and Aiden were free to take lovers as they chose.

Not everyone who came to the window was there to proposition someone in the troupe, though. Plenty of people came to speak to Lorna or her daughter, ask for guidance about how to deal with a wayward child or tips for growing a certain kind of flower or bake a special kind of pie.

When Lorna wasn’t dispensing wisdom, advice, and kindness to her subjects, she was speaking to Rodney and John about the arrangements they needed for their performance.

The routine was simple - flat open space with room for seating, sitting or standing as the audience preferred, good acoustics preferred. Performance began as soon as the last light of day was gone.

Once Ronon and the others had eaten and drunk to their fill, they gathered up their gear - instruments, weapons, the boxes full of Rodney’s arcane science-not-magic - and followed Lorna deeper into the valley. As they walked, Ronon realized the cottages were not organized by random but rather in a circle, with a wide open space beneath a broad old tree in the center of the circle. The space was flat, also circular, the grass green and neatly-kept, the entire space bordered with flowers.

Ronon helped the others set up, which mostly involved arranging Rodney’s boxes to his satisfaction. The sun had been low in the sky when Lorna led them to the heart of her little kingdom. While Ronon has shifting boxes this way and that -  _ to your left, no, your other left, are you even listening to me? _ \- a sound filled the valley, deep and vibrant, like a trumpet or a horn.

“What’s that?”

“The signal for the fisherman to come home,” Aiden said.

Ronon straightened up, turned to gaze at the horizon where the sinking sun was casting golden light against the darkening water, and he saw pale shapes bobbing the water. Sails, he realized. Sails from boats. 

By the time the sun had set, everyone was ready to perform. They’d laced each other into their costumes, checked the edges on their weapons, the tuning on their instruments. Teyla and Rodney, the ones with the steadiest hands and most experience at the task, had painted everyone’s faces - dark smoky lines around their eyes, dabs of color to darken their mouths, highlight their cheekbones.

As they’d prepared, people had drifted toward the space, arranging themselves in a circle along the edge of the grass, shifting and rearranging to accommodate children and smaller people who wanted to sit up front, the elderly or disabled or permanently injured. 

Among them Ronon saw Carson, Jennifer, Peter, Radek, and others who had invited John and his troupe to stay with them for the night, after their performances had ended.

Ronon wondered if it was harmony or some kind of forced uniformity, that everyone wore similar homemade, homespun clothes and one or two or three flowers in their hair. The flowers were all lovely, and people were smiling and happy as they greeted each other. 

Older children crouched beside younger children, pointed to the performers and their equipment, whispered things that made the younger children’s eyes widen in delight. Ronon could see when the children looked at him, and he straightened up, threw back his shoulders, let them look on him and his strength and assume he was the warrior of the troupe. 

By the time it was fully dark, seemingly everyone in the kingdom was assembled, including Lorna, her daughter, and her two children. If not for their flower crowns, Ronon would have lost them in the crowd.

As soon as Lorna was seated, John stepped into the center of the grass, sketched a bow, and it began. A brief introduction, an invitation to join them on a journey of mystery and beauty.

“Welcome,” John said, “to a small corner of the lost wonder of Atlantis, and prepare to be inspired.”

He bowed again, then retreated to the shadows on the edge of their space.

Rodney always went first. If people were disinterested, bored, or unimpressed, they focused fast.

Rodney appeared in the middle of the space, seemingly out of nowhere, holding a single light. He shifted his hands, and the single light became two, became four, became eight, multiplied until he was holding all the stars of the sky in his hands, and then he flung them upwards.

Where they hovered, glowing, dancing, until they rained down in a shower of sparks.

The children cheered.

Everything Rodney did was science, was possible via some natural process that could only be explained in a dry, long-winded, impatient fashion. Spoken, that science was boring. Witnessed, it really was amazing.

Rodney captured lighting in a bottle, made it dance from hand to hand. He made objects disappear and reappear in different places. He made light change colors as it swirled around his head. He made balls fall upward and heavy things float as if they were light as feathers.

He dazzled the audience with each illusion, bringing them higher and higher until he set off a round of colored lightning - and vanished.

There was a shower of sparks, a puff of smoke, and then Teyla stepped out of the smoke, into the floating golden lights Rodney had left behind.

And she began to dance.

John was in charge of making sure Rodney had his props during his performance, of setting off chemicals and small explosions for visual effects.

Aiden was in charge of accompanying Teyla’s performance. People thought she was dancing, the way she was spinning and twirling with those two batons, batons that opened up into a pair of steel-spined fans. She was a formidable warrior in her own right, and her practice routines were lovely when set to one of Aiden’s complex, syncopated drum beats.

Ronon rounded out the beat with his mandolin, and once Rodney and John had caught their breath, they joined in with their instruments as well.

Where Rodney had captured the audience’s attention, Teyla drew them in further with each dizzying spin, each powerful leap, each graceful extension. By the time she was finished, the audience was mesmerized, eager with anticipation.

Teyla withdrew into the shadows in another burst of smoke, and then John and Aiden, who’d abandoned their instruments several measures in advance, burst onto the stage, Aiden leaping and tumbling, John dashing after him. Tonight Aiden was the hero, would win their mock battle.

As they moved up and down, back and forth across the stage, practice swords flashing, the audience was enraptured, heartbeats rising in anticipation. Who would win, John the black-clad villain, or Aiden the blue-clad hero?

Both of them were skilled warriors as well, and they executed their blocks and strikes, parries and slides with breathtaking precision, each clash and exchange a near miss.

Rodney and Ronon kept the music going, though Teyla took over for Ronon at the drums, driving the music higher and higher, faster and faster until the music dropped, leaving John and Aiden poised in silence, Aiden with the kill strike, and John in defeat.

The audience burst into cheers, and both of them retreated.

Ronon walked out into the middle of the grass while the audience was still clapping and cheering, sat down with his lute across his knees, and made a show of tuning it while the applause died down.

He waited till he had perfect silence and attention, till the audience had calmed and stilled, and then he lifted his head.

And he saw, mingled in with the rest of the crowd, a young man wearing a flower crown. He was crouched on the ground beside Lorna’s two grandchildren, and he was looking right at Ronon.

For one moment, Ronon was frozen in the man’s gaze, hypnotized by how blue his eyes were even in the dim torchlight.

Ronon had the luxury of connecting and interacting with the audience in a way the others didn’t. Rodney fed off of their curiosity. Teyla made eye contact with some of them when she could, feeding off of their energy. John and Aiden had to focus on their routine lest they injure each other, but they could also feed off of the audience’s energy, their reactions to the ebb and flow of the mock-combat.

Ronon was the one who got to look into their eyes, their faces, read their expressions, really interact with them, encourage them to clap along or sing along or invite them to weep with him, be moved by whatever songs he chose.

Tonight, Ronon was singing for one person, the young man with the crown of flowers.

He started with a sweet, simple, bright song on his lute, knew John was accompanying him from the shadows. It was a playful song, a love song that was also a flirtation. Ronon smiled when he saw the audience begin to sway along with the rhythm he was building, nodded approvingly at them, and some of them smiled back.

This was why he played music, to connect with people.

All his people were gone, but for an hour or so, once in a while, he was joined with people again, sharing life and energy and emotion, committed to the same cause.

When he reached the final chorus, people were clapping along, and John and Teyla and Aiden and Rodney were singing along as well, their voices bright and cheerful.

_ Well open up your mind and see like me _ __  
_ Open up your mind and damn you’re free _ __  
_ Look into your heart and you’ll find _ __  
_ The sky is yours _ __  
_ So please don’t _ __  
_ There’s no need to complicate _ __  
_ ’Cause our time is short _ __  
_ This, oh this is our fate _ _  
_ _I’m yours_

On that final line, Ronon looked at the man with the flower crown and caught his gaze, held it. Ronon raised his eyebrows ever so slightly, questioning.

The man raised an eyebrow back, then lowered his head to listen to something one of the princess’s sons had to say.

The song ended, and Ronon focused on the rest of the audience, bowed his head in gratitude for their applause. Then he continued to play - songs that were funny, songs that were sad, songs that were stories, about love and life, war and death. Through it all, he talked to the audience, asked them about their lives, listened to the things they said, chose songs based on what they said.

As a Satedan, he was made to be skilled at two things: art, and war. His war was fought and done, had ended in defeat. What he had left was art.

He kept looking at the man with the flower crown, the man who’d let both of the little princelings fall asleep on him, the man who was watching him.

Ronon had started light and sweet, but the evening was drawing to an end, people were tired - and getting to retire for the night. Traditional Satedan music was part spoken poetry, a form not everyone appreciated, but Ronon had spent many years learning the songs of his people - and writing songs of his own.

He caught the man’s gaze, held it, then said aloud, “This is for all the beautiful flowers in the kingdom.”

The man’s crown was made of bright blue flowers, flowers Ronon knew smelled sweet - and also had painful thorns. How the man had woven the crown without injuring himself was a mystery - or perhaps he’d done it in spite of the pain.

The song was about a red version of the flower, which Ronon knew was the most common - did these simple-seeming people had advanced knowledge or science that allowed them to grow flowers in unusual colors? - but he figured the song was the right way to end the show. The chorus, he thought, got his point across.

_ You’re so beautiful _ __  
_ I can’t take my eyes off you _ __  
_ Like a thorn on a flower _ __  
_ I know I’ll get pricked _ __  
_ But I want you _ __  
_ So beautiful it makes me sad _ _  
_ _Too beautiful to handle_

Ronon lifted his hands away from his lute, set it aside, let the final notes hang on the air.

A soft smattering of applause filled the air. 

Ronon stood, and the others joined him in the center of the grass, and they took their bows.

Then the audience was on its feet, moving to greet them, thank them, congratulate them. John and his troupe must have been to this kingdom before, because Teyla and John were able to greet many of the people by name.

Ronon did his best to be gracious to the people who came to speak to him, but he didn’t want to lose sight of his prize. He wove through the crowd do the edges of the grass, and there the man was, kneeling beside both sleeping princelings. The woman who John had referred to as Princess was beside him, scooping one boy up into her arms, and Ronon paused.

Of course. Man. Woman. Two children. All wearing flower crowns. Princess and two princelings. Obviously the man was the Prince.

“I’ll take Gabriel,” the man said. “He’s bigger and heavier.”

“I can carry my own son,” the Princess said, rolling her eyes. “You get Michael.”

The smaller boy began to stir. He sat up, pressed a hand to his head. “Mama, my flowers are crushed,” he said sleepily.

The Princess said, “No matter. Uncle Evan can make you a new one. Now come on, let Uncle Evan pick you up. It’s your bedtime.”

Relief flooded Ronon’s veins. He stepped forward. “Need a hand? I can carry both at once.”

The Princess looked him up and down. “I’m sure you can, but so can I.” She knelt, held one arm out, and Michael went to her, climbed into her embrace. She stood with impressive steadiness and grace, then said, “See you tomorrow, Evan.”

“Are you sure, Talia?”

“I’m sure,” she said, expression knowing, and turned away.

Evan turned to Ronon, his eyes dark and solemn, but his smile was warm, inviting. “You sang beautifully,” he said.

“Thank you.” Ronon gazed at Evan. Up close, he was even more handsome - soft pink mouth, golden skin, broad shoulders, muscular chest.

Before Ronon could say anything further, John clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, we’re staying with Queen Lorna tonight. Well, most of us - I think Aiden accepted a generous offer of respite with Jennifer.”

Rodney looked dismayed at the notion, but Teyla looked amused.

Evan said, “I was just about to extend an invitation of my own to Ronon.”

John snatched his hand off of Ronon’s shoulder. “Of course, Prince. Whatever you wish.”

“Whatever Ronon wishes, at this point,” Evan said. He looked at Ronon.

“I accept your invitation,” Ronon said.

Evan inclined his head politely. “Thank you.”

John cleared his throat. “All right. That’s settled. See you tomorrow, Ronon.” He turned to the others, herded them away.

Ronon looked at Evan. Evan beckoned, turned, and led Ronon away from the central green, down the valley, past the houses, through the fields, across the white sand, and to the sea. Ronon half expected Evan, who was barefoot and lit softly in the moonlight, to lead him straight into the water, but instead Evan led him onto a boat.

Evan showed Ronon a compartment on the deck where he could safely store his instruments and other performance supplies. Ronon sat on one of the benches on the side of the deck while Evan ducked belowdecks. When he emerged, he was carrying a bowl of water and a cloth.

So Ronon could wash his face, he realized.

While Ronon was washing his face, Evan knelt in front of him, started to remove his boots.

“I can do it myself,” Ronon said, discomfited, because Evan was a prince. Even if Ronon usually disregarded rank, he wasn’t about to disrespect a prince in his own kingdom.

Evan glanced up at him. “I know. Let me anyway.”

So Ronon did.

By the time he was done washing his face, he was barefoot, and he felt refreshed. 

Evan carried the bowl and cloth belowdecks once more, and then he reappeared, offered Ronon his hand.

Ronon accepted, and he followed Evan down past a small galley, to his cabin, which was mostly a large bed and a chest for clothes and other supplies. Evan sat down on the edge of the bed and began to unfasten the laces at his collar.

“What do you want tonight?” he asked.

Ronon blinked, hesitated. “This is your home and your kingdom -”

“And you are a celebrated bard and a guest,” Evan said. “I offer you all the hospitality of which I am capable.”

Was that what this was, some kind of hospitality? Like payment for a performance well done? Was that how Evan’s - Lorna’s - people were?

“What if I wanted more?” Ronon asked, because suddenly, for the first time, he wanted more than a single night, than a fleeting performance, than a rushed tangle of limbs and kisses and passion that faded into nothing more than a dream in the dawn.

Evan met his gaze. “What more can I offer than my body and my bed?”

_ Your heart, _ Ronon thought, but they barely knew each other, had been exchanging heated looks all evening but exchanged only a handful of words in comparison.

“Tonight,” Evan said, “I offer my body and my bed, but if you want more, that will take time. Time both of us would have to sacrifice.”

“Tonight I accept your offer,” Ronon said. “In the morning we can decide what else happens between us.”

Evan nodded, smiled, and drew Ronon closer, parted his lips for a kiss. Ronon leaned in to taste. Evan’s hands on his jaw, shoulders, back, waist were warm, firm, gently exploring. His mouth was sweet, his skin soft, his muscles hard. His kisses were delicious. Ronon went to lower Evan to the bed, paused, reached up to set aside his crown of flowers.

“Careful,” Evan said, his eyes wide and solemn. “It has thorns.”

Ronon said, “Even if I bleed, I want to know you.”

Evan nodded and lowered his head. Ronon lifted the crown as carefully as possible, set it aside, and then guided Evan down to the bed, tasting him all the way.

If this was night going to fade into a dream at the dawn, he was going to make their time together last.

*

The next morning, Ronon was awakened from deep, sated sleep by the scent of food. Sizzling sausages. Something sweet. He opened his eyes, sat up. The bed beside him was empty. Ronon cast about, found his trousers, pulled them on, and headed into the galley.

Evan, wearing just his trousers, stood at the small cooking fire, sausages sizzling in a cast iron pan over the flames. The little galley table was set with two places, a bowl of scrambled eggs, a few bread rolls, and two small pots of jam and cream.

“How did you sleep?” Evan glanced up at Ronon, smiled.

“Very well.” Ronon leaned in for a kiss, and Evan turned to him fully. Too late Ronon remembered his breath was sour from sleep, but Evan parted his lips and smiled against Ronon’s mouth, kissing him deeply.

“Sit, eat, the sausages are almost done.”

“Thank you.” Ronon lowered himself to the table, set about cutting open a couple of rolls and spreading jam and cream on them. Did Evan do this for all his one-night lovers? Or was Ronon special? Were John and the others being fed as well? Was this just the way of Evan’s people?

Once the sausages were finished, Evan doused the cooking fire, then brought the pan of still-sizzling sausages over to the table. He gave Ronon half, then served half for himself before he set the pan aside. He sank down in the seat opposite Ronon and set about preparing his own breakfast.

“How did you sleep?” Ronon asked.

Again with that soft, warm smile. “Better, with you beside me.” Evan ate with his fingers but perfectly neatly, delicately.

Ronon felt hamfisted with his knife and fork by comparison.

“Council starts in an hour, under the Great Tree,” Evan said. “You’re invited.”

“Council?” Ronon echoed.

“The Ruling Council,” Evan said.

Ronon was confused. “But...I’m not a citizen in this kingdom.”

“But you are a visitor, and we want to ensure visitors are treated fairly, so your input is valuable,” Evan said.

That made sense. “Well, if John and the others don’t mind me staying, I’d be glad to participate in your Council.”

Evan chuckled. “I suspect, if Jennifer did convince Aiden to take respite with her, your troupe will be staying for a while.”

“I thought Jennifer had a thing for Rodney.”

Evan served Ronon a cup of sweet fruit juice, sipped some of his own. “I might have suggested to Jennifer that Rodney’s affections lay elsewhere and if she was interested in human company and pleasure, Aiden is young, energetic, and enthusiastic.”

“I bet Aiden’s grateful.” As were Rodney and John.

But Evan shrugged, his expression a little too innocent.

“This is delicious,” Ronon said.

“Thank you. My mother tried to teach us all to cook well.”

“You learned well.”

They finished the meal companionably, Evan asking about Ronon’s musical training, his warrior training - he was familiar with Sateda, then - and the places he’d traveled with John’s troupe.

When the meal was finished, Evan washed up, and Ronon dressed, and then Ronon stood in the doorway and watched Evan prepare for the day. Evan was as unselfconscious as he had been the night before, letting his clothes fall to the floor before he washed himself with warm water and a cloth from a bowl. He set the dirty clothes in a basket he kept under the bed, pulled on fresh clothing. And then he reached out, scooped up the flower crown, settled it carefully on his head.

Some of his fingertips bled anyway.

“You all right?” Ronon asked, and was terribly distracted by the way Evan sucked at each wounded fingertip.

“Fine,” Evan said. “It’s a necessary reminder, of the price of the role I play. Now come - the Council awaits.”

Ronon fetched his gear from the compartment on the deck, then followed Evan up the beach and back toward the central green. In the daylight, he could see the whole flotilla of fishing boats pulled high up on the shore away from the sea’s clutching tides.

“No fishing today?”

“Today is our rest. We will resume working tomorrow.” 

As they walked, plenty of people greeted Evan, including small children, whom he leaned down to greet with hugs. People also spoke to Ronon, complimented him on his performance, told him they hoped he’d enjoyed his stay, that he would return soon with more songs.

Ronon did his best to be polite, but usually Teyla and John handled socializing with their audience. 

The Ruling Council was a circle of seemingly random people - men and women of all ages, and also children as young as eight, youth with fewer than twenty summers. They sat on the grass in the shade of the broad-limbed tree at the edge of the central green, talking and smiling. Queen Lorna was already present, as was Evan’s sister, Talia. He was surprised to see Teyla there as well, sitting beside the healer Carson and talking with him.

Greetings filled the air when people spotted Evan. Ronon wondered if he should hang back, let Evan go first. Did the people know that Ronon had warmed Evan’s bed the night before? He was the prince. Shouldn’t he have had a wife and children?

_ Did _ he have a wife and children?

But then Teyla was waving at him, so he went to sit beside her. Carson obligingly scooted over to make space, and Ronon sat.

Evan sat down, several places to Ronon’s right. There was no discernible order to the circle that Ronon could see, Queen Lorna and Evan and Talia sitting where they chose. It wasn’t even Queen Lorna who led the meeting. Instead a girl of no more than twelve cleared her throat, called the meeting to order, and proceeded to outline a list of agenda items. Ronon was surprised at the way her elders deferred to her, only speaking when she called on them. The Kingdom by the Sea, it seemed, had a check-in system, where each household checked on at least one other household, and that way everyone had someone checking on them, and anyone with concerns was invited to raise them at the weekly Council.

One woman had had a new baby - would some of her neighbors bring her family meals? People volunteered readily. An elderly gentleman had fallen ill, was in the last few weeks of his life. Would some people assist his family not in providing for his physical needs but just in keeping him company, talking to him, reading to him, singing to him, even just sitting with him while his family worked?

Once all of the concerns about neighbors in need were addressed, talk turned to fishing hauls, projected crop harvests, education of the young people - the children and youth had much to say on the matter. Finally, the young girl leading the Council addressed Teyla and Ronon, asked if they had anything to say about their experience as visitors. What could the denizens of the Kingdom by the Sea do make their next stay better?

Teyla smiled graciously, said she and her troupe had been warmly welcomed and well cared-for, and their next stay could not possibly be better. Other members of the Council - members? Participants for the day? - expressed their gratitude for such a wonderful performance, encouraged the troupe to return soon.

Once all concerns were addressed, the Council was adjourned. Some people lingered to chat, others went to go about their day. Ronon looked at Teyla for a cue about what to do, but she rose, so he did the same, and then he saw John and Rodney coming toward them.

John spoke to Queen Lorna, again thanking her for her hospitality and generosity. Once they found Aiden, it would be time to depart.

Ronon cast about for Evan and saw him kneeling, speaking to a little eight-year-old boy who had sat in the Council circle but said little. The little boy was nodding, expression wide-eyed and solemn.

“Aiden, nice of you to finally join us,” John said, and there was Aiden, dressed and carrying his gear and grinning.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

Rodney rolled his eyes. “Are you?”

Aiden nodded. “Yeah.”

“Good, because I really do need that ore,” Rodney said.

“Queen Lorna was kind enough to give us provisions for the road,” Teyla said.

Aiden went to thank Queen Lorna. Ronon wanted to say goodbye to Evan, but seeing him kneeling there with that child, his expression equally solemn, stayed him. For all that he wore a simple crown of flowers, he could have been wearing a circlet of gold, like the kings of old, like the kings in the stone castles who ruled armies.

However small this kingdom was, it was full of kindness, charity, and grace.

Well, some grace.

Jennifer had come to bid Aiden farewell, and she’d bumped into Rodney, and awkwardness ensued. Once again it was Teyla who rescued them.

“We will return when we can,” she said.

Jennifer nodded, casting a hopeful smile at Aiden, then a nervous glance at Rodney.

They started for the mouth of the valley, just the four of them, Rodney recounting the delicious food, Teyla remarking on the softness of her mattress and pillow.

Some children accompanied them, asking questions mostly of Rodney and his magic  _ (it’s science,  _ he insisted, _ science!), _ but also of Aiden and John and their flashing swords and Teyla’s sweeping fans.

They had almost reached the border of the kingdom when another small child ran up to them. She reached out, tapped Ronon on the arm - and offered him a blue flower with a thorny stem.

“For you,” she said. “Never forget the price.”

Teyla, Rodney, and John looked confused, but Ronon accepted the flower carefully, thanked the child, and tucked the stem gingerly into his pack.

“So,” John said, “what did you think of your first visit to the Kingdom by the Sea?”

“Almost as good as you described it,” Ronon said. 

John raised his eyebrows. “Almost?”

“We didn’t get to ride the waves,” Ronon said. He glanced over his shoulder to where the sea had almost vanished from sight.

Aiden said, “We could stick around a little longer.”

Rodney huffed. “I need that ore.”

“On the way back, then,” Ronon said. 

Teyla raised her eyebrows. “The way back?”

Ronon hitched his pack higher on his shoulders. “The way back from the Genii. After we get the ore. We can stop here again and ride the waves.”

Teyla, Aiden, and Rodney exchanged looks. 

“After we visit the Genii, we were going to stop by and visit Aiden’s grandmother,” Teyla said. 

Aiden’s grandmother lived on the other side of the Genii mines. 

“You can always go back there on your own,” Rodney said. 

Teyla and John shot him looks. 

Rodney rolled his eyes. “And rejoin us, I mean. We can pick a place to meet up. If you want.”

Did Ronon want?

He shifted his pack again, and the scent of the blue flower drifted toward him, the same scent that had lingered on Evan’s skin when Ronon was in his arms. 

“Think about it,” John said. “You don’t have to decide now.”

Ronon thought about it, while they walked. He thought about it during the long, boring, ritualized exchange of greetings with the Genii. He thought about it during Teyla’s careful negotiations with the Genii for some of their ore (that really no one but Rodney wanted but they knew how much he wanted it). He thought about it was they gathered up their ore and packed it away, distributing it so they all carried a share. He thought about it, while he helped the others prepare for a short performance, a courtesy rather than part of the trade. He thought about it while he sang - about roses and thorns, and blue eyes, and being in his lover’s arms.

“Well?” Rodney asked, the next day, when it was time to move on. “What are you going to do?”

“I want to learn how to ride the waves,” Ronon said.

John nodded. “All right. We’re going to visit Aiden’s grandma. We’ll meet you at the mouth of the valley at dawn in five days.”

It was a day’s walk to the Kingdom by the Sea, and it was a day’s walk to Aiden’s grandmother’s house.

They agreed that Ronon should keep his share of the ore, partially to help Rodney stick to his ore rationing schedule, partially so the others weren’t burdened with the weight - not that they weren’t strong enough to take the extra.

“That way you know we’ll come find you,” Aiden said. “Because we need that ore.”

“It’s not like you know how to use it anyway,” Rodney said. “Or that you’d be able to get a good price for it if you sell it.”

It was Teyla who said to Ronon, in a low voice, while the other three were distracted, “If, when we come find you, you wish to stay, we understand.”

Ronon didn’t think he was ready for that decision, but he nodded anyway, and set off walking.

When he arrived at the mouth of the valley, it was dark, the sun gone down. All the fishing boats would be high on the shore. No one would be in their fields. Everyone would be warm and safe and cozy in their houses, sharing fine meals and laughter. Some people, he knew, would be bringing meals to others, or visiting others to bring them comfort.

Ronon was still a skilled warrior, trained with John and Aiden every day before he sat down to practice his songs, and it would be easy for him to slide through the shadows, past the fields and houses and down to the shore to Evan’s boat.

Did he remember what Evan’s boat looked like?

Would it be rude, not to announce his presence to Queen Lorna first?

And then a child said, “Hello, Bard.”

Ronon spun, startled, and there was a small girl, the small girl who had given him the blue flower that was still affixed to his pack.

She smiled at him and said, “If you wish to see Lorna, come this way.”

“Thanks,” Ronon said, a little helplessly.

The girl slipped her hand into his, smiled again, and led him through the tall swaying grass.

He should have known Queen Lorna’s house for what it was, bright-painted shutters thrown open wide, golden light spilling forth, warm and welcoming.

The little girl led him right up to the window.

Queen Lorna was sitting beside the fire, sewing something while the two little princelings, Michael and Gabriel, sat at the table with their mother Talia, enjoying supper.

“Mama,” Talia said, “come eat.”

“I’m almost finished.” Queen Lorna didn’t look up from her sewing.

It was the smaller of the princelings, Gabriel, who said, “Hello, Satedan Bard.”

Queen Lorna looked up sharply. “Ronon! So lovely to see you again so soon. Would you like to dine with us?”

How easily the Queen offered her home and her hospitality to strangers. Perhaps that was just the way of the people in the Kingdom by the Sea.

Talia said, “He’s probably looking for Evan.”

Queen Lorna smiled. “Of course. Evan should be down on the beach by now - fishing is finished for the day, and I’m sure the fishers are bringing in their catches. If you don’t find him - or even if you do - you are still welcome to dine with us. Maybe even convince Evan to join us for once.”

Ronon nodded. “Thank you, my Queen.”

The little girl who’d led him to the house giggled and scampered away, presumably back to her own home for supper.

Ronon shouldered his pack, bade the royal family farewell, and started down through the valley toward the sea.

The white sand was shadowed in lavenders, blues, and oranges in the fading sunlight. Fishing boats formed a neat line just past high tide. Men and women helped each other drag their boats up the sand, and yet other men and women helped each other haul in their nets full of writhing, shining fish and traps full of crabs and lobsters.

Ronon didn’t quite remember what Evan’s boat looked like, his memories of it shrouded in shadow and outweighed by other memories, so he walked along the sand, pausing here and there to help fishers - who greeted him warmly when they recognized him - until he found Evan’s boat.

He knew it was Evan’s boat because Evan stood on the deck, having already handed off his catch to some of the other fishers.

Evan wasn’t alone on the deck, though. He was wrapped up in another man’s arms while that man kissed him, caressed him.

Evan had only promised Ronon his bed and body for that one night, said if they wanted more that would require time and sacrifice. He’d also said they would speak about what they wanted further between them, only they hadn’t spoken of it, just attended the Council meeting and then Ronon had departed with John’s troupe.

Ronon couldn’t tell from the passionate embrace whether Evan and the other man were anything beyond casual lovers, but something in his chest burned with jealousy, and he turned away, retreated from the beach before Evan spotted him - or someone else pointed him out to Evan.

For some reason his feet carried him back to Queen Lorna’s house where she was finally sitting with Talia and the princelings and eating. She rose and opened the front door and ushered him in without questions. Michael jumped up and found another chair, dragged it over to the table so Ronon could have a seat while Talia and Gabriel worked to set Ronon a place.

The meal that night was hearty stew, crusty bread to sop up the juice, and small sweet fruit tarts. Ronon was halfway through his stew when Evan arrived - barefoot as always, his crown perched delicately in his hair, looking none the worse for wear for his day’s efforts, and also looking unrumpled for a man who’d been kissed and touched as thoroughly as Ronon had seen.

“Ronon,” he said, smiling pleasantly. “It is good to see you again, and so soon. Are you here to perform, or has John been extolling the pleasures of riding the waves?”

Evan pulled up a chair for himself, served himself stew and bread and a tart.

“Riding the waves,” Ronon said.

Evan smiled, friendly and sweet. “It’s a bit dark to start learning tonight, but I’ve a spare board, if you’d like to learn tomorrow.”

There was nothing further behind his smile, not a more sensual invitation or its opposite, a too-polite dismissal. Evan spoke as if he and Ronon were longtime friends.

“I’d like that,” Ronon said. “I can help you fish in payment.”

“As always, you’re our guest,” Evan said. “You’re strong and athletic. I’m sure you’ll master the basics easily. Once I teach you, I can go fish with the others, do my share for the day.”

Ronon wanted to ask why the Prince fished like a common citizen, but the customs - and the people - in this kingdom were so unusual that Ronon didn’t know what would cause offense or not. It seemed nothing would cause offense or injury or suspicion. These people were friendly and welcoming all the time.

“I’d appreciate that,” he said finally.

Again with one of Evan’s sweet, dimpled smiles. “Excellent. The waves are often best to ride at first light - after the fishing boats have departed in the darkness before dawn. If you meet me at the shore, I can bring my spare board, and we can ride together.”

“Thank you,” Ronon said, a little helplessly. Nothing Evan was saying was rude or unkind, but Ronon couldn’t help but feel that their entire interaction was  _ wrong. _

Did Evan remember their time together? Did it matter to him at all?

After supper, Evan helped his two little nephews wash up, and then they bundled up the leftover food to take to a neighbor in need.

“Can I walk with you?” Ronon asked.

Evan nodded and smiled, and Ronon was fast learning to dislike that sweet, almost bland smile. After the food was delivered, Evan nudged his nephews back in the direction of the Queen’s house, and then he headed toward the shore and the sand and his boat.

Ronon followed him. Evan didn’t seem to mind at all, remarked on the mildness of the evening breeze, the constellations that were starting to wink into visibility, led Ronon all the way to his boat. He went to climb aboard, and Ronon reached out, caught his wrist. Dare he confront Evan about the other man he’d been kissing? Did Ronon have any right to confront Evan about that man?

He wasn’t sure what to do or say - but he knew he wanted Evan again, so he reeled Evan in, kissed him.

Evan surrendered, lips parting beneath Ronon’s. He melted against Ronon, comfortable in Ronon’s embrace. Ronon kissed him till they ran out of breath, and then he climbed onto Evan’s boat, gave Evan a hand up. He stowed his gear in the deck compartment, and then he led Evan belowdecks. His heart pounded. What if that other man was still sleeping in Evan’s bed, or the rumpled sheets were evidence of their prior passion, or -?

But the bed was neatly made, and when Ronon drew the coverlet aside the sheets were crisp and clean.

This time it was Evan who reached up and set his flower crown aside, hastily, wincing when the thorns pricked him. Ronon leaned in, closed his lips around one fingertip, and tasted the faintest hint of blood, soothed the wound with his tongue. Evan’s breath came faster, and he tangled his other hand in Ronon’s hair, tugging. Ronon took that as his cue, and he lowered Evan to the bed, covered Evan’s body with his, and kissed him breathless once more. 

Ronon undressed him slowly, tasting his skin inch by inch - and checking for kiss-bruises and marks from another lover, though there were none. 

Perhaps Evan and the other man had only kissed, nothing more.

Ronon brought Evan to the edge over and over again, kissing and licking, nibbling and stroking. He opened Evan up with his fingers, and Evan bloomed beneath him, flushing delicate pink with pleasure, spreading his legs and parting his lips and begging Ronon to fill him, take him, let him reach his peak. When Ronon finally entered him, it was a smooth, easy slide, and for one moment Ronon was filled with the deep suspicion that Evan accepted him so easily because Evan had recently accepted another, but then Evan was panting and begging more, and Ronon started to thrust, thrilling in Evan’s warmth and slickness and tightness, the way Evan was moaning and gasping and crying out. Ronon reached between them and took Evan in hand, stroking him higher and higher till he reached his peak and crested, tumbled back down and went pliant and soft beneath him, and then Ronon sped up, losing himself in Evan’s body until he reached his own peak.

He was still crying out when Evan wrapped his arms around Ronon, pulled him down to the bed. Ronon eased out of him, and they lay side by side, Evan holding Ronon through the aftershocks.

Ronon wanted to ask Evan if he had taken another man that day, or if Ronon was his only one, but then Evan was slipping out of the bed to find a warm damp cloth to clean them, and Ronon was asleep before Evan was finished gently washing the evidence of their passion away.

*

This time, when Ronon woke in Evan’s bed, it was still dark, and he didn’t smell food cooking, though when he stumbled into the galley Evan had some cured meat and hard tack biscuits - sea rations - for them to eat.

“You’ll want the energy,” Evan said. He wore a pair of simple knee breeches that tied tightly at his waist.

Ronon nodded and ate. Evan had a spare pair of breeches for Ronon, and once they were both fed, Evan showed him where on deck he kept his wave riding boards, and together they headed out to the sand. The sun was just creeping over the horizon, and Ronon could see the fishing boats bobbing out on the water, white sails bright against the darkness of the sea and the sky.

They started on the sand, Evan showing Ronon how to paddle on the board, and how to find his feet, and explaining how Ronon needed to distribute his weight so he could steer. Once Evan was confident Ronon could find his feet as fast as he needed to, they waded out into the water so Ronon could get used to paddling on the water while on the board. He practiced paddling to catch waves. Once he’d caught a wave five times in a row, then it was time for him to try to stand once he caught a wave.

Ronon fell more often than not, but after seemingly his hundredth tumble something happened in his body and he could just - ride. On the water. At first Evan swam to check on him every time he tumbled, but after a while he sat on his board and bobbed on the water, watching Ronon’s progress and calling out advice and encouragement.

Riding the waves was amazing. No wonder John loved it. No matter how many times Ronon tumbled off his board and into the tossing sea, he climbed back on and tried again. It was speed and floating and almost like flying. He thought he was getting pretty good at it pretty fast - and then one time he surfaced from another spill and saw Evan cutting across the surface of the water, twisting and turning his board, using it to climb the foam of a wave over and over again.

Could John do that? Ronon wanted to be able to do that. How long would it take for him to learn how to do that?

Ronon’s heart crawled into his throat when Evan went tumbling off his board, but he broke the surface of the water moments later, tossing his head to get his wet hair out of his eyes, and he was laughing, joyous.

He was so beautiful.

Was he too beautiful to handle?

Ronon had already felt the sting of Evan’s thorns.

Evan paddled back to him, eyes shining. “You look good out there, confident. Want to keep practicing while I head out to help the others?”

Ronon considered. “I’ve practiced enough today. I’ll fish with you instead.”

Evan raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

Ronon nodded.

“All right. Let’s go.”

They rode the waves back to shore, climbed onto Evan’s boat, laid their boards on the deck to dry in the sun. They shed their wet clothes on the deck and laid them out to dry as well. Evan in the golden morning sunlight was beautiful, and Ronon couldn’t help himself. He stepped closer, leaned in to taste the soft skin of Evan’s throat, inhaled the scent of the sea and the salt of exertion and the soft undercurrent of those blue thorny flowers.

Evan hummed softly, pleased, enjoying Ronon’s attentions, but he disentangled himself before Ronon could bring him to arousal.

“I have to help the others. If you still have energy after today’s catch, you can have my body as many times as you can handle,” Evan said.

They ducked belowdecks and pulled on clean clothes. Once again, Ronon watched as Evan put on his delicate and dangerous little crown. Together they pushed Evan’s boat into the water. Evan directed Ronon to help him raise the sail so they could head into deeper water to meet the others. He was incredibly agile, scrambling across the deck to manage the ropes and rigging. He was incredibly dexterous too, loosing and knotting ropes with seemingly barely a flick of his wrist, but soon they were in the midst of the other fishing boats. 

Evan directed Ronon to drop a string of crab and lobster cages into the water, and then they let their nets over one side.

The other fishers called out greetings to Evan and Ronon. Evan didn’t hesitate to jump from one boat to another, adjusting a sail here, patching a net with a few knots there, offering suggestions about different ways to cast. They didn’t have a formal midday meal, instead sharing around more sea rations, plus a few treats that fishers had brought from shore, prepared by loved ones or friends. Evan ate sitting on the railing of his boat, feet over the side, gazing out toward the water. Ronon sat beside him, perched more cautiously.

“Ever wonder what’s out there?” Ronon asked.

Evan said, “I’ve never left this place. I imagine that anything - everything - is out there.”

“Pretty much,” Ronon said.

Evan turned to him. “Tell me?”

So Ronon did, basking in the way Evan’s gaze lit with fervent curiosity, the way Evan’s entire being was tuned to him and every word he spoke. It was with great reluctance that Evan declared their meal break over, and it was back to work.

Why hadn’t Evan ever left the Kingdom by the Sea? Was it part of the price he paid to his delicate flower crown, beyond a daily sacrifice of blood?

The sun was low in the sky when they heard it, the deep, reverberating note that was the signal - the end of the fishing day.

Everyone turned their boats toward shore. Some of the fishers laughed and taunted, racing each other. Evan joined in, directing Ronon to help him angle the sails so they could catch the best of the evening breeze. They didn’t win, not even close, because Ronon was a rather inept sailor, but no one was truly insulting about his efforts, because he was a beginner, and his help was much appreciated. Ronon had the sense that their rough affection was genuine and not just because Evan wore that flower crown.

As they unloaded the catch and hauled the boats up the sand, Evan explained that they only fished for a short season, had to salt and preserve the fish against the scarcity of fish for the rest of the year, and every fisher was needed so every family would have enough to survive the coming scarcity. One of the fishers whose catch was lower than he wanted had a broken net, and he called Evan over to consult about how repair should be effectuated. Ronon followed, because he was curious about how fishing nets were made and repaired.

Before Evan could explain, a child dashed up to them, tugged on the fisher’s sleeve.

“Your daughter is ill,” the boy said.

“How ill?” the fisher asked.

“Lorna has summoned Carson,” the boy said.

Carson. The healer.

The fisher looked stricken.

Evan said, “Go. We’ll take care of it.”

The fisher nodded. “Thank you, Evan.” 

The child took off, and the fisher followed, running as fast as his exhausted body would allow.

Ronon stepped in with the other fishers to help finish unloading the man’s catch.

Once the catch was unloaded and away to storage and preservation, Evan scooped up the broken net, carried it onto his boat.

“What are you doing?” Ronon asked.

“His net needs to be fixed before we push off tomorrow,” Evan said. “Or else he won’t catch enough. It won’t be just his family who suffers.”

“How long will it take?” Ronon asked.

Evan poked around in one of the deck compartments, came up with a netting shuttle and some rope. He hooked a stool with one foot, dragged it close, sank onto it. “Shouldn’t take long. You should go have supper with my mother and sister. I’ll be along when I’m finished.”

“Are you sure?”

Evan nodded. “Yes. I can teach you how to make a net another time, but the light is fading fast.” He smiled, open and reassuring.

Ronon nodded. “All right. Thank you for teaching me to ride the waves today.” He leaned in, stole a soft kiss, and then vaulted over the side of the boat, landed in the sand.

He followed the other fishers up into the valley, drifted along until he found Queen Lorna’s house. Her shutters and door, Ronon realized, were the same color as the flowers of Evan’s crown. Her windows were open wide, and as soon as she saw him, she invited him in for supper. It was a roast, herbed vegetables, thick gravy, and some kind of cool, sweet liquid Queen Lorna described as fruit soup.

“Evan says he’ll be along soon,” Ronon said. “He’s fixing a broken net.”

Talia nodded. “Of course.”

She tasked her sons to set aside a plate for their uncle, which they did eagerly. Then they asked Ronon about learning to ride the waves - both of them were already competent waveriders, had helped Evan carve their own small boards - and about fishing. Michael wanted to be a fisher when he grew up. Gabriel was probably going to be king after his mother served as queen, but he wanted to learn to cultivate fruit trees in the meantime, because he loved fruit soup and fruit pies.

Ronon spoke to them, and he sang for them a little, and at their request he sang them lullabies for them at bedtime - and he realized. It was bedtime. And Evan still hadn’t come.

“Take him the food,” Queen Lorna said. “He can reheat it in the galley.”

Ronon nodded, scooped up the food, carried it down to Evan’s boat.

The repaired net was spread across the deck, the stool set to one side, the netting shuttle  and rope nowhere to be see. Ronon ducked belowdecks, set the plate down in the galley, and went to find Evan.

Evan was fast asleep, sprawled across his bed, still fully clothed. At least he’d set his flower crown aside, lest it be crushed - or he be pricked.

Ronon covered the food, shed his shoes, and crawled onto the bed beside Evan.

He’d make sure Evan ate in the morning.

*

Only the next morning Evan was awake before him again. They had breakfast together, rode the waves together, then fished together. The one fisherman whose child was sick didn’t sail with them that day, so everyone was working harder to make sure they caught enough for everyone in the kingdom to have what they needed when the season of scarcity was upon them.

After fishing was done for the day, Ronon helped Evan push his boat high up on the sand. Instead of going to Queen Lorna’s house, they sat on the beach and roasted fish over a bonfire. Ronon talked about the places he’d seen before he joined John’s troupe, the places he’d been as one of the Satedan Defense Forces. He used a stick to draw in the sand so Evan could see the shapes of mountains and valleys and lakes, rivers and huts and palaces, fortresses and dungeons and so much more.

“You draw so well,” Evan said, reaching out and tracing the lines of Ronon’s hand, wrist, palm, fingers.

“It is another thing we train for, in Sateda, along with war and poetry and music. It would have been my trade if I hadn’t met John and others.”

Evan lifted his head sharply. “Drawing is a useful skill when you travel?”

Ronon nodded. “Many places don’t have artists in residence. For someone to have an image of loved ones or even themselves is - rare. Precious. But I like singing more.” He eyed Evan. “Does the Kingdom here not have artists in residence?”

“We have many artists.” Evan held out his arm, unrolled his sleeve so Ronon could see the fancy embroidery at the cuff. “They make many beautiful things.”

“So some people are fishers and some people are artists?”

“People here are free to be what they choose,” Evan said. “If you’re willing to put the time and energy into being both an artist and a fisher, you can be both.”

Ronon sensed hesitation in Evan’s tone, but he didn’t press the issue. Instead they enjoyed their meal, and they drank the sweet wine that John had talked about, and when they were full and wine-drowsy they put out the fire and cleaned up the mess and clambered onto Evan’s boat, and they spent the rest of the night enjoying each other’s bodies till they had no more energy left to give.

*

The fourth day, Ronon’s last full day with Evan, was another Council Day, no fishing, just sitting on the grass in the central green beneath the broad old tree, talking about the people in the Kingdom, about who needed help and who could offer help, about progress on projects and classes. After the Council meeting, they had a leisurely lunch with Queen Lorna and Princess Talia and the two little Princelings, and then it was back out on the water to ride the waves till they were exhausted.

Ronon had finally gotten the hang of riding the waves, could stay on his board so long as he kept his balance, and he didn’t have to think too much about keeping his balance, trusting his body to do what it needed to. 

He supposed it was a good sign when Evan asked, “Do you want to learn some tricks?”

They played on the water until the sunlight started to fade, returned to Evan’s boat before it was too dark to see and be safe. They stripped out of their waveriding clothes and left them and the boards on the deck to dry, and they stumbled, nude, belowdecks to Evan’s bed.

Evan knew how long Ronon had planned to stay, as Ronon had told him early on. Ronon hadn’t expected the urgency in their coupling, Evan hungry for Ronon to take him over and over again. Evan held Ronon close, kissing him breathless, skimming brief caresses all over Ronon’s body, his shoulderblade, his hip, his elbow, his spine, his arm, the sensitive skin at the back of his knee.

Ronon thrilled in how responsive Evan was, how quickly he hardened under Ronon’s kisses and touches. Ronon didn’t even have to touch Evan’s cock. He started at Evan’s mouth, licked his way inside for a taste, nibbled on Evan’s bottom lip, nipped at his jaw and mouthed at his ear. He tasted the hollow of Evan’s throat the lines of his collarbones. By the time his closed his lips over one of Evan’s petal-pink nipples to suck and lick, Evan was usually already hard, gasping and begging for Ronon to touch him, stroke him, take him in hand and bring him to completion.

If Ronon was in a hurry, he gave in, but on his last night, he wanted to prolong their shared pleasure as much as possible, so he touched and kissed Evan everywhere but where he wanted it most - until it was time to open him up, one oil-slick finger at a time.

Ronon knelt beside Evan, pinning his wrists down with one hand so he couldn’t touch himself, his other hand between Evan’s sun-golden, trembling thighs.

When Evan was finally ready, Ronon settled himself between Evan’s knees, grasped himself and lined up, and entered Evan’s body in a single slow, heated slide.

Evan cried out at the first breach, then tried to wriggle down onto Ronon’s cock faster, gasping and swearing when Ronon pinned his hips in place to maintain control of the thrust. Once Ronon was all the way in, he stilled, face to face with Evan, gazing into those blue eyes darkened with lust.

Then he pulled back, just as slow and steady, till just the head of his cock was inside Evan, and stilled.

Evan begged him to go faster, harder, but Ronon refused, kept the place agonizingly slow and steady, because he loved watching pleasure spread across Evan’s features, loved looking down and seeing where their flesh joined, loved the way Evan went breathless when he finally bottomed out.

And he loved the moment when Evan finally broke loose, grabbed his ass, and thrust hard.

After that their pace was frantic, Evan with his legs locked around Ronon’s waist, Ronon rocking into him over and over, the two of them tussling as Evan tried to touch himself and Ronon didn’t let him, wanted to watch Evan come from being fucked alone.

When they finally collapsed do the mattress, exhausted and sticky and sated, Evan said, “Don’t let me sleep. I’ll have to get up soon.” 

He curled up beside Ronon, tucked against his side, nuzzled under his chin, and fell asleep.

For the first time, Ronon was awake before Evan. He dressed silently in the darkness, crept up to the deck, retrieved his gear, and began the trek up the valley toward the inland plains.

Rodney, Aiden, John, and Teyla appeared at the mouth of the valley just as sunlight broke the horizon.

“Oh,” Rodney said.

“Oh what?” Ronon hitched his pack higher on his shoulder.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Rodney said, and then yelped like he’d been pinched. He added, “So soon. I didn’t expect to see you here so soon.”

“This was when we said to meet.” Ronon eyed him.

“Right, but - I’m not used to your level of punctuality.” Rodney cleared his throat. “Never mind. Come on. We’re headed to Dagan. I hear they might have some books with some useful recipes for illusions in them.”

Dagan. That was a four-day walk. Those books had better be worth it.

Ronon stared at the now-dry blue flower affixed to his pack and wondered if he should just stay with Evan.

But he had to go.

*

He couldn’t stay away for long. As soon as they were finished in Dagan - and Ronon was necessary in Dagan, if only to stand with John and Aiden and  _ loom _ while Rodney and Teyla engaged in negotiations with Allina - Ronon broke away from the others and headed for the Kingdom by the Sea while they went to call on Teyla’s people.

They agreed to meet in fourteen days this time, because it was such a long walk back to the Kingdom by the Sea. At dawn at the mouth of the valley, like before. Rodney laid out the plan with a certain seriousness that Ronon didn’t quite comprehend. They were all capable adults. Working as a team was important so they could stick together and continue to help each other, but travel plans were hardly battle plans.

“Dawn,” Rodney said again.

Ronon nodded, and he set off, single-minded in his purpose. To see Evan again. 

It was easy to fall into the rhythm of Evan’s life. Ronon arrived at the mouth of the valley late in the afternoon on the fourth day of his journey, and he was just past the central green when the horn sounded, signaling the fishing boats to return.

Ronon reached the pale white sands of the beach when the first of the boats arrived, the fishers whooping and hollering and calling good-natured insults and brags to each other. He set down his gear high up from the water and dashed down the beach to help drag the boat up the sand. More and more boats arrived, and fishers spilled onto the sand, hauling their boats high up.

Others came to help unload and collect the catch.

This time it was easy for Ronon to find Evan’s boat. Several teenagers were working with him - learning the trade, most likely. They scurried to obey his instructions. Ronon swung himself up onto the deck and helped one of the boys unload some of the contents of a net into a basket.

“Thanks,” the boy said, barely looking at him. Together they lowered the basket over the side of the boat to waiting hands, and then a girl brought them another basket.

Together the three of them worked until all the nets were unloaded.

“What next?” Ronon asked.

“The lobster traps, I think,” the boy said, and cast about. “Evan?”

Evan was tying down the sails for the night. He glanced up, met Ronon’s gaze.

“Casta, take Cleo and Shifu and head on home, have dinner. Ronon and I can finish here,” he said.

Casta looked skeptical. “Are you sure?”

Evan said, “Ronon is strong and fresh. We will finish quickly.”

Casta took little time to consider this, nodded, caught Cleo’s wrist, and together they hopped off of the boat, dark-haired Shifu on their heels.

“Welcome back,” Evan said.

Ronon remembered last time, how Evan had been nothing but polite until Ronon made his intentions clear, so he reeled Evan in and kissed him.

Evan melted against him, lips parting, and when Ronon pulled back, Evan was smiling sweetly.

“Let’s finish,” Ronon said, “and then I’ll take you inside and we can  finish properly.”

Evan nodded, and together they finished unloading the catch.

They didn’t bother with supper, stumbled belowdecks, tangled in each other’s arms, kissing and caressing, and made it to Evan’s bed without mishap. Ronon pushed Evan down to the mattress and proceeded to greet him properly and very, very, thoroughly.

Evan resisted just long enough to remind Ronon,  _ The flowers, _ and Ronon was the one who set the flower crown aside before he accepted Evan’s sweet submission.

After, Ronon realized just how hungry he was.

He told Evan so, and Evan laughed. “You’re not the only one. As delicious as you are, one cannot survive on passion alone. Come on. Let’s eat.”

They made another bonfire on the sand, and Ronon told Evan about their travels, about the terrain they crossed to reach Dagan, about Dagan’s drafty stone archives, the flickering torchlight and the walls covered in ancient murals and intricately-woven tapestries.

Evan, Ronon noticed, tended not to bother with his flower crown when it was just the two of them, either riding the waves or after lovemaking, but he wore the circlet of flowers even when he was fishing. Everyone in the kingdom wore flowers in their hair, male or female, no matter what they were doing, some just one flower, others a small bunch, some big blossoms, others small delicate buds, some little sprays of tiny flowers, like a miniature bouquet.

Ronon paused mid-sketch of the Dagan archive’s central chamber.

“Why flowers?” he asked.

Evan blinked at him, confused. “Pardon?”

“Why does everyone wear flowers?”

Evan lifted a hand to his head and looked startled when he realized he wasn’t wearing his own. “They are symbols of who we are.”

“As...as a people?”

Evan sketched a circlet in the air with his hands. “I am a servant of all, as is my family. Others are unattached and looking for love, or happily attached, or mourning the loss of a loved one. Some are apprentices, journeymen, masters. Some are happy or sad, or afraid, or worried. Others are celebrating, or carrying a new life. Some do not wish to speak, and yet others are lonely and invite the kindness of others. We see the flowers and we know.”

A servant of all. Yet John referred to Lorna as Queen, and while she asked John to simply call her Lorna, she did not deny that she was the queen.

“That sounds - complicated.”

Evan shrugged. “To learn for the first time, perhaps, but I have always known the meanings of the flowers and where they are worn in the hair.”

“What about people who don’t wear flowers? Like me and John and the others.”

Besides John and the troupe, Ronon had never seen other visitors there. By all accounts visitors were welcome, as evidenced by Ronon and Teyla being invited to sit at Council.

Evan said, “Either you tell us what you wish us to know about you, or you do not wish us to know such things about you, and we respect that.”

Ronon said, “I’ve never seen you wear anything but the crown.”

Evan said, “I am always a servant to all.”

“What if you leave this place?” Ronon asked. “Do you wear your flowers then?”

“You would have to ask someone who has left.” Evan shrugged again.

Ronon reached out, stroked Evan’s thick, soft hair. Evan leaned into the gentle touch. He liked Evan without the flowers.

Evan said, “Tell me about Sateda.”

Ronon knew the distraction for what it was, but it had been a long time since he’d talked about his home, and he knew Evan would listen.

*

Ronon and Evan fell back into their easy routine together, the two of them riding the waves in the early morning light, then changing back into their regular clothes and fishing with the other fishers. Sometimes they had supper with Lorna and the rest of Evan’s family, sometimes they were invited to dine with Carson or Jennifer or other friendly people (everyone in the Kingdom by the Sea was warm and welcoming and friendly), but more often than not they had supper by themselves, just the two of them. Some nights they only managed a frantic coupling before Evan was called away to assist with this task or mediate that dispute. Other nights they took their time with each other, learning and memorizing each other’s bodies, bringing each other to the edge again and again till they could stand it no longer and then tumbling into ecstasy, their cries a shared song for the sea and the night sky. Many nights, though, Evan slid out of the bed while Ronon drowsed. He repaired nets, wove ropes, stitched up torn and frayed clothes, and worked till Ronon fell asleep.

He was always, always awake before Ronon.

More than once someone else approached Evan, men and women alike, put a hand on his arm, leaned in, spoke softly. Evan would shake his head, glance at Ronon, and the other person would nod, expression knowing, and walk away. Ronon wanted to bare his teeth at them, beat his chest and bellow from the rooftops of the houses that Evan was his, that when he was here no other could have him. They could have his advice and assistance and work, but they could not have his kisses or the scent of his skin or him spread out beneath them in his bed.

Those brief interactions made Ronon wonder who Evan was with when he wasn’t around, how many lovers he took, how friendly and welcoming he was for the people in his kingdom. Ronon thought of their first night together, how he’d wanted to ask for Evan’s heart, and Evan had said all he could do was let Ronon have his body and his bed. If they were to have more, that would take a sacrifice of time. Had Ronon sacrificed enough time with Evan? He knew Evan was sacrificing time with him, taking time to teach him to ride the waves when he should have been out with the other fishers at the break of dawn, helping to shore up food against the season of scarcity to come.

By the ninth day, Ronon still felt like he was a stranger in Evan’s life, a guest, a visitor, someone whose stay was guaranteed to be fleeting. No one questioned his strength or endurance when he was on the water with Evan, helping with the fishing. Ronon was definitely getting better at sailing, was starting to remember the names for knots and parts of the sails and rigging to help keep the boat moving. But outside of fishing and riding the waves, Evan did everything for them, all the cooking and cleaning, preparing and washing up, because Ronon was a guest.

On their last night together - because Ronon didn’t know when he would be back, but he had to help earn his keep with John’s troupe - they pushed the boat back out onto the water, spread blankets on the deck, and made love under the stars. Ronon took Evan hard and fast, brought him to completion quickly, and then they lay together, talking softly till they recovered for further rounds.

“I want to try something different,” Ronon said when Evan went to tug him in for a kiss.

“What would you like?” Evan searched his gaze.

Ronon said, “Take me.”

Evan looked surprised. “Are you sure?”

Ronon arched an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t. Unless you don’t like it?”

“No, I enjoy it very much. People usually don’t -” Evan cut himself off, looked away. He took a deep breath. “I would be honored to share our time together in such a way.” And he pulled Ronon into another long, slow kiss.

Ronon parted his lips, let Evan taste him. Evan’s arms around him tightened - and then he thrust upward suddenly, rolled. He was on top of Ronon in a flash, pinning him down. He was strong. Ronon knew he was strong, had seen him hauling in nets swollen with schools of fish, had seen him swinging the sails about with a single hard pull on the ropes. He’d never seen this in Evan, this aggression, this  _ hunger, _ and he wanted more of it. So he tried to break free. Evan pinned Ronon down harder, hips thrusting against his, kissing Ronon over and over again.

Ronon spread his legs, rolled his hips upward. “Come on,” he said. “Take me. Remember? I’m yours.”

Evan growled and captured Ronon’s mouth with his, worked a hand between them. “You will not forget this night.”

It had been a long time since Ronon had been with any man like this. Evan was gentle, careful, but unrelenting, opened him up thoroughly, teasing him all the while, stroking his sweet spot and lowering his head to lap at Ronon’s nipples but not letting Ronon touch him, not letting Ronon touch himself.

When the moment finally arrived, Evan buried himself between Ronon’s thighs, captured his mouth in another kiss, and eased inside. 

Evan kept his thrusts long, slow, perfectly even, an endless sensation, like a violinist drawing his bow back and forth on the strings but sustaining a single, perfect, crystalline note. Ronon was dizzy with desire, but Evan still wouldn’t let him touch himself.

“No need for that,” he whispered, nipping at Ronon’s ear. “I will take you where you want to go.” And he started circling his hips with his thrusts.

Evan was stroking Ronon’s sweet spot with each thrust, and Ronon was climbing higher and higher, begging and pleading. He’d never been taken like this before, never -

Ronon crested, and the sky above him spun. The stars in the sky rained down on him, and the world turned so bright he couldn’t see. When he finally came back to himself, Evan was lying beside him, panting, grinning.

“Thank you,” he said.

Ronon smiled at him. “You’re welcome.” He wrapped his arms around Evan, held him close, and together they fell asleep.

*

For the second time, Ronon woke before Evan. He dressed, gathered up his things - and then realized Evan must have awakened sometime in the night, because the boat was back on the sand, pushed up high.

Evan was curled up on his side, innocent in sleep.

Ronon pressed a kiss to his brow, whispered a farewell, then hopped off of the boat. He landed softly in the sand and headed toward the mouth of the valley. He had to be there at sunrise.

Once again, the others met him there as promised.

“Where to next?” Ronon asked.

“To the Protectorate,” John said, casting Ronon a look he couldn’t quite read when Ronon fell into step with him.

Rodney frowned.

Of course he didn’t like the Protectorate. The Lord Protector’s daughter, Mara, was quite enamored of John, and had, on a previous occasion, come to John’s guest quarters, shed her clothes, pushed him down on the bed, and climbed on top of him before he realized what was going on.

Only some fast talking on John’s part - about not wanting to disrespect the Lord Protector’s generosity and a bunch of other things that made Teyla roll her eyes - had gotten him off of the bed and her back into her clothes without any feelings being hurt.

The Lord Protector threw magnificent feasts whenever they came into town, and because Aiden had charmed some of the kitchen girls, if they were circumspect about how much they ate at table, they could take a lot in the way of leftovers when they departed.

“Did you enjoy your time with Evan?” Teyla asked.

Ronon nodded.

“How goes your waveriding?” John asked.

“Good. Not as good as Evan, but -”

“It takes a lot of time to be as good as Evan,” John said.

“I don’t know how he ever found the time to get that good. He’s always doing - something.” Ronon frowned.

“Evan has been practising that skill since childhood,” Teyla said.

“I don’t think I’ve seen children on the waves,” Ronon said.

“They have their own stretch of beach where they go play once their chores and schooling are done,” Rodney said. “It’s good - they get to have their own space.”

“And they stay out of our way,” John added pointedly.

Rodney rolled his eyes.

“Rodney’s not really a child person, if you couldn’t already tell,” John said.

“I like children just fine,” Rodney said. “They just don’t like me.”

Aiden laughed, danced out of the way when Rodney tried to swat at him.

Ronon asked after Teyla’s people, who had granted them respite more than once. 

They reached The Protectorate in a day and a half, which was good time. The Lord Protector welcomed them warmly. His daughter, Mara, gazed at John longingly. As annoying as the Lord Protector’s son Tavius was, he stopped his sister from doing anything as bold as she had before. Though the way he looked at John suggested that, were he not so desperate to prove to his father that he deserved to inherit the throne, he’d have tried something similar.

They feasted well that night. The next night they would perform. During the day Rodney would also lend some of his scientific brilliance to effectuating repairs around the castle, John at his side as a technical assistant. Teyla would train Lady Mara’s handmaiden bodyguards. Aiden would spar with Tavius. Ronon was also invited to spar with Tavius, to assist him in his combat training.

After the feast, they retreated to their quarters. John and Rodney roomed together, ostensibly to save room - and also to deter Mara, who would not attempt to seduce John if someone else was in the room. Teyla enjoyed a room to herself, so Ronon shared with Aiden. He took his instruments out of their cases to let them adjust to the humidity and and elevation of the Protectorate. Once they’d settled, he could check their tuning in the morning. Then he unpacked his performance costumes to let them air out, get rid of the some of the wrinkles. He’d check them over, see if they needed repaired.

He reached into his pack for his little notebook of songs and touched something unfamiliar. He snatched his hand back, confused. Then he peered inside his pack and saw - a book. A leatherbound book. He drew it out, wary. He opened it to the first page, looking for a title or inscription, and instead he saw himself.

A drawing of him sitting on the railing of Evan’s boat and gazing out to sea. It was a beautiful drawing, lifelike though it was in black and white ink. The shading was so fine it almost seemed smooth, even though when Ronon peered close he could see that it was actually very tiny dots.

He paged through the book and realized it was a journal, a sketch journal.

It was Evan’s, he realized. The book was full of pictures of the Kingdom by the Sea, of Lorna and Talia, Michael and Gabriel, the broad old tree people sat beneath for Council, the boats on the water, a lobster trap basket, Evan’s boat. The book included lovely portraits of each of the members of John’s troupe. The book also had studies upon studies of flowers, some too fantastical to be real, though Ronon recalled seeing them in people’s hair.

In the last quarter of the journal, there were pictures of Ronon, studies of his face and hands, his tattoos, the texture of his hair, his clothes. Pictures of Ronon sleeping, and Ronon eating, Ronon riding the waves, Ronon sitting by a bonfire on the beach. Pictures of Ronon performing. All of those images, drawn from memory.

Ronon remembered the conversation he’d had with Evan about how drawing could be a useful skill when one was a traveler, that one could trade their artwork and make an actual living. 

Evan was better than most artists who sold their work for a living.

Ronon thought of how Evan always asked about the places Ronon had been, how he’d said he’d never left his kingdom, how his crown of flowers meant he was a servant of all.

Ronon reached the final page, a drawing of him asleep on the deck of Evan’s boat, this one he suspected drawn from life.

And he knew how to sacrifice time for Evan.

*

The next day, before it came time to spar with Tavius, Ronon went down into the village to trade. He performed a few folk tunes, he helped with some heavy lifting, and when he’d done his fair share, he acquired two new sketch journals, one blank one for Evan, one for himself, once that he intended to fill with images of what he saw on his travels. He sparred with Aiden and Tavius for a few rounds, but it fast became clear that Tavius disliked sparring with Ronon, so he excused himself.

He tuned his instruments, he steamed his costume to get the wrinkles out completely, and then he set about drawing.

He started with Sateda.

They performed that night, and every song Ronon sang was for Evan. He smiled at men and women in the audience, made heated eye contact during love songs, flirted shamelessly, because he was a performer, and he did what he had to to get paid.

But when he sang,  _ This is our fate, I’m yours, _ he was remembering that last night on the deck of the boat. When he sang of roses and thorns, he thought of Evan’s flower crown and Evan’s lips on his fingertips.

That night, Aiden accepted an invitation to a noblewoman’s bed, so Ronon was left alone. He continued to draw, feverishly, unable to sleep, thinking of all the places he’d been, places that Evan would enjoy seeing. He tried to remember which places he’d drawn in the sand beside their bonfire. Evan deserved to see the best of their lines. If he couldn’t see them in person, he could see them from Ronon’s hand.

Ronon was still drawing when Aiden, smug and sated, returned to their shared room, his shirt unlaced and his throat marked with kiss-bruises.

“You’re still up?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you doing?”

“Drawing.”

“What?”

“Places I’ve seen.”

“Oh, like a journal? That’s a good idea. Someone should keep a record. I mean, Teyla knows every place we’ve been and how to get there, but -”

“For Evan,” Ronon said.

Aiden sat down on the edge of his bed closest to Ronon. He rested his elbows on his knees, leaned in. “You should go back to him.”

“I will, once we’ve been to Menaria and -”

“You should go back to him now,” Aiden said.

Ronon looked up, startled by the intensity of Aiden’s tone. “Right now?”

Aiden nodded. “Look, you’re clearly very interested in the man. Go and - stake your claim or something.”

“But John -”

“John will understand. He’s got Rodney.”

Ronon hesitated.

Aiden rose, crossed the room, scooped up Ronon’s pack, brought it to him. “Really. Go.  _ Run. _ I’ll carry your instruments till we see you again.”

“Are you sure?”

“Wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t,” Aiden said.

Ronon looked at him for a moment longer, then snatched up his pack, shoved both journals into it, and toed on his boots. He was out the door in a flash.

“Good luck!” Aiden called after him.

Ronon didn’t walk - he ran.

As soon as he was beyond the borders of the Protectorate, he fell into that easy, loping stride that would let him run forever and ever. 

He reached the mouth of the valley in half the time it had taken the troupe to walk to the Protectorate. He paused to catch his breath. He headed into the valley a ways until he found a cool little spring to bathe himself. He changed into fresh clothes, found the journals, and then he started for the beach.

The fishers had already come in and unloaded their catch for the day, would be sitting down to supper with their friends and families. Ronon stuck to the shadows, moving soundlessly. Evan wouldn’t be expecting him back so soon. They could finally talk, about the time they had and would sacrifice for each other.

Ronon reached the pale sand that was shadowed blue and lavender and tinged with gold beneath the setting sun, and he paused, scanned the long line of boats till he saw Evan’s. He took a deep breath, crossed the sand, went to climb onto the deck - and paused.

He heard a woman’s voice belowdecks. Was Evan having an important meeting with Queen Lorna or Talia? Ronon would wait until they were finished. He couldn’t quite hear what the woman was saying, but he had time, he could wait, he could -

The woman cried out.

Ronon straightened up, alarmed. Was the woman in danger? 

And then he realized. He’d heard a cry of passion.

Was Talia using Evan’s boat, perhaps? Best as Ronon could tell, she lived with her mother, so if she wanted to spend time with a lover, she would need to find privacy elsewhere.

The woman cried out again - and Ronon recognized Evan’s name.

His blood ran cold.

He’d known. He’d seen how other men and women approached Evan, and he’d known. Evan had brushed them off because he’d been with Ronon, but -

Ronon leaned up, placed the blank sketch journal on the railing of the boat, turned, and walked away.

He walked away from the sea and the sand, up through the valley, away from the quaint little houses with the brightly-painted windows, away from the bright orchards and rainbows of flower gardens and neatly-fenced livestock pens.

He walked and he walked and he walked until he reached the border of Menaria, and then he slept, and he ate, and he waited until the rest of the troupe arrived.

“Ronon!” 

Aiden and the others looked shocked.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here,” Ronon said. “To stay.”

The others exchanged looks that Ronon could finally read. They were sad for him.

He didn’t need their pity. He took his instruments back from Aiden, and together they entered Menaria. The next night, when they performed, Ronon sang sweet love songs, and he smiled and flirted with the crowd, but he didn’t sing the song about the thorny rose, sang only songs that didn’t mention flowers at all. If the others noticed his change in repertoire, they didn’t say.

Sometimes he sparred with John and Aiden, learned some of their routines in the event one of them was too injured to perform, and then they could switch roles, one of them be the bard and Ronon be a fighter.

They roamed far and wide. Ronon met Aiden’s grandparents for the first time, and they stayed with Teyla’s people again. They all met Rodney’s family for the first time, his sister who was just as beautiful and brilliant as him, her kind husband and lovely child. They even met John’s brother, the ruler of a small fiefdom that John was supposed to have inherited and ruled. No one talked about why his younger brother ruled in his stead, but Ronon was pretty sure John would have been miserable as the ruler of the small, pastoral fiefdom. While they were there they all pitched in with the sheep shearing, helping harvest, wash, and card the wool for spinning.

John, Aiden, Teyla, and even Rodney taught Ronon songs from their homes and families, songs of love and loss, life and battle, joy and union.

Together they roamed, and they sang, and they played.

At Aiden’s suggestion, Ronon kept up his sketch journal, drawing all the places they visited, important people they met. It was Rodney who wrote notes in the journal, commentary of whose cooking was the best and where, who had the most comfortable beds. Teyla made notes of the non-performance service that their hosts sometimes needed, the useful things available for trade in each place. In the back of the book, John and Aiden started to construct a more accurate map of the Many Lands. The old worn maps they used were, Rodney frequently complained, artistic guesses at best. 

“We’ll have to walk the edges of it sometime,” John said. “Just to get a sense of it.”

“We’ll have to stock up on supplies pretty heavily beforehand,” Rodney said, fretting about going hungry even though they never went hungry, not even when the journeys between their destinations were long, because everyone else in the troupe was a skilled hunter.

John stopped talking about the Kingdom by the Sea. Even when their journeys took them past it, even when it would have been perfectly reasonable to stop there, offer a brief performance and resupply, they did not. Whenever they passed by the mouth of that gentle, verdant valley, Ronon resolutely did not look out toward the sea.

The truth was, Ronon missed Evan. He dreamed of Evan sometimes, woke confused because he wasn’t swaying on Evan’s boat. He dreamed of Evan’s eyes and smile, his kisses and caresses. He dreamed of fishing alongside Evan, of riding the waves or just standing on the deck of the boat and feeling the cool sea spray on their faces.

But he remembered standing beside Evan’s boat and hearing that woman cry out in passion, cry out Evan’s name.

*

Asura was a massive kingdom, and its capital was a city bigger than all of their homelands combined, a sprawling confusion of buildings that stretched higher and higher, as if competing to reach the sky, to blot out the sun.

Because Asura was so big, performers and artists like them weren’t as rare, as precious, or as well-paid, so they didn’t ply their trade their often. Asura had, however, the best market they’d ever encountered, and Teyla’s father had been a trader before he’d died in the Wraith Wars, so she’d seen almost every market imaginable in the Many Lands. It was the best place for them to stock up on performance supplies - new props and costumes, replacement parts for instruments, new weapons.

Ronon was admiring a very fine hand-crafted ash wood flute when he was struck by the scent of Evan’s skin. Of the flowers he wore in his hair.

He spun, heart pounding.

“Evan?”

It wasn’t Evan.

It was a girl. She was wearing familiar flowing, homespun clothes with intricate embroidery at the neckline and waist and cuffs and hems, and she wore a flower in her hair. She was carrying a tray of tiny glass vials stoppered with cork and sealed with brightly colored wax, the same colors as the shutters and doors on the houses in the Kingdom by the Sea.

“Perfume, sir?” the girl asked. “For a pretty lady or a lover?”

Ronon prowled closer to her. “Where did you get those scents?”

“These,” she said, “are crafted from rare flowers found only in a very small kingdom in a remote valley by the sea.”

Ronon said, “Do you have a perfume made from blue flowers with thorns?”

She nodded, her smile bright but her gaze shrewd. “You have fine taste. Those are rare flowers indeed.” She held up a very tiny vial of pale blue liquid.

The price she named was exorbitant.

Ronon managed to bargain her down, but not nearly far enough. Even Rodney, who was a poor negotiator, would have thrown his hands up and walked away. Ronon paid, and then he strung the vial on an old lute string, slipped the string over his head. 

He wore the vial close to his heart.

No one noticed it until several days later when John’s old knee injury flared up and Ronon had to substitute in for him against Aiden during their performance. They always cast lots to see who would be the victor in the performance, and that night Aiden was to win.

When he struck his killing blow, he broke the seal on the vial, and the front of Ronon’s shirt was soaked.

Ronon collapsed, playing dead, while the audience cried out in alarm.

“Mama!” a child hissed. “He’s  _ dead! _ Did you see the blood all over his shirt?”

Ronon had to wait till Rodney threw a smoke bomb, and then he could retreat under cover of smoke and shadows.

“Are you okay?” Aiden asked, patting Ronon down. “Did I hurt you? Your shirt -” He cut himself off when he inhaled. He frowned. “Are you wearing perfume?”

“Perfume made of the dangerous blue flowers from the Kingdom by the Sea,” Teyla said in a low voice. 

John was speaking to the audience, charming them, telling jokes while he tuned Ronon’s lute.

“I’m not wearing it on purpose.” Ronon shrugged off his soaked shirt with a grimace. The empty vial was nowhere to be found. The cork and seal were still affixed to the old lute string around his neck.

Aiden and Teyla stared at it.

Teyla said, “Ronon, you should go to him.”

“Tried that once.”

“You must try again, speak to him again.”

“Didn’t speak to him last time.”

Teyla’s brow furrowed. “Then why -”

“He was with someone else.”

Aiden said, “Did you tell him you weren’t seeing anyone else?”

Ronon looked away.

Teyla said, “Did you ask him not to see anyone else?”

Ronon said nothing.

Teyla said again, “Go.”

“But John -”

“He will understand.  _ Go.” _

*

This time Ronon didn’t run. He walked. He stopped in small villages to ply his trade, sing his songs in exchange for food and shelter when hunting was thin. This side of the Many Lands was coming up on the season of scarcity. He sang songs he hadn’t sung in a while, about wearing bright flowers in your hair, and bringing flowers for a loved one.

He sang the song about the roses and the thorns.

_ Because of the thorns _ __  
_ A beautiful rose can bloom _ __  
_ Dark red flowers _ __  
_ It means I love you _ __  
_ Even if I bleed everywhere _ __  
_ I want to know you _ __  
_ Because I think about you every day _ _  
_ _I’m already addicted to you_

It was late when Ronon reached the mouth of the valley. It was dark and quiet, but he could see some houses glowing with light and life. Unsurprisingly, one of them was Lorna’s. He walked through the valley quietly so as not to disturb the denizens, human and animal alike. He reached Lorna’s window. The brightly painted shutters were open. Ronon peered inside and saw Evan and Lorna sitting opposite each other at the table, a fishing net spread out between them.

“We have not seen John and his troupe in a long time,” Lorna said.

“I am sure they are exploring many far and wonderful places. They come when they choose. They are not beholden to us,” Evan said. His hands on the net were quick and sure.

“You have not seen Ronon in a long time,” Lorna said.

Evan lifted his head briefly. “No, I have not. But - we had no understanding. I wish him well.”

“You wanted an understanding?” Lorna looked at her son for a long time.

Evan was already focused on the fishing net, moving the shuttle rapidly. “There is little point in wanting what you cannot have.”

Lorna said, “Go to sleep, Evan. You’ll be up early tomorrow as it is. I can finish this.”

“Mother -”

“Go. Your queen commands it.”

Evan looked up sharply, surprised at her tone. But then he nodded, set his shuttle down. He crossed the room, kissed her on the cheek. “Good night, mother.”

Ronon melted back into the shadows, watched the front door open, watched Evan step out.

Lorna rose, closed her shutters, but the light behind them didn’t go out.

Evan, barefoot, wearing the clothes he always wore on the days he fished, that circlet of flowers on his brow, turned and headed for the Sea.

Ronon followed.

He kept to the shadows, kept his footsteps silent. His heart pounded. What should he say to Evan, to make him understand? As they neared the beach, he realized - what if Evan had someone in his bed waiting for him?

They reached the sand where Evan’s boat was pulled up high away from the water’s edge, and Ronon reached for him.

Evan spun around, caught his wrist, yanked him in.

Ronon was startled by Evan’s strength, pulled off-balance. He planted one foot to regain his balance. Evan swept the other foot out from under him. Ronon crashed to the sand, Evan on top of him, one fist raised to strike.

And then Evan saw his face in the moonlight, and he sat back, let his hand fall to his side.

“Ronon. Why were you following me so?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“You crept upon me like a thief.” Evan rose, dusted himself off, offered Ronon a hand.

Ronon accepted, climbed to his feet. “I didn’t want to wake anyone.”

Evan took a deep breath, looked Ronon up and down. He attempted a smile. “Welcome back.”

Ronon didn’t want Evan’s empty openness. He didn’t want what Evan gave every other one of his lovers. He was pretty sure he’d had more than Evan had ever given everyone. He’d kept Evan’s beautiful sketch journal even though he hadn’t looked at it in a long time.

“On our first night together, you offered me all the hospitality of which you were capable. I asked you what would happen if I wanted more.”

“I told you it would take time that both of us would have to sacrifice.”

“I’ve been sacrificing my time,” Ronon said. “But I realize I never told you that I did want more. So I’m telling you now. I want more. You have given me your bed and your body, your time and your companionship. I am grateful beyond words. But I also want your heart.”

Evan flinched.

“I have given you mine. I have taken no lovers since the first night I was with you,” Ronon said.

Evan looked away.

Ronon said, “I will give you all the time I have left.”

Evan looked up at him. “I can’t give you the time you deserve. When I am here -”

“Then I’ll be here with you, fishing alongside you -”

“But you travel, you see great things. You deserve more than to be trapped here for the rest of your days,” Evan said.

Ronon reached out, curled a hand around Evan’s wrist. “Then come with me.”

Evan’s eyes lit for one moment, but then he pulled free of Ronon’s grasp. “No. I can’t. I -”

Ronon reached up, plucked the circle of flowers off of Evan’s head. “You can.”

Evan’s breath hitched. He reached up, carefully took the circle of flowers from Ronon, and Ronon’s heart sank. But then Evan placed the circle of flowers on Ronon’s head and said, “Stay with me. Keep the flowers and fish by my side, or cast them into the sea and we can leave this place together. You choose.”

Ronon reached up, touched the flowers tentatively, flinched when he encountered a thorn. He lowered his hand, stared at his own bright blood, startled.

Evan leaned in, kissed his fingertips.

Ronon looked at him. What should he choose? He reached into his pack, drew out the journal he’d started keeping, the one he’d intended to be a gift for Evan but that had turned into a travel manual for John’s troupe.

Evan stilled when he recognized it, a twin to the sketch journal Ronon had left for him.

Ronon held it out to him. “This is all the places I’ve been, from before I met you, since I met you. It is the world as I have seen it. It is full of beauty and wonder and strangeness. If you ever want to look at it, it’s yours.”

Evan accepted it, hands trembling. He opened it to the first page. He looked up at Ronon, eyes wide. “I knew you had some skill, when you drew in the sand, but - these are beautiful. I couldn’t keep this. It was so much work.” He closed it and held it back out.

Ronon stayed his hand. “Keep it. You’ll need it.”

“Why?” 

“So we’ll know what to eat where, and so we can trade well, and so we don’t get lost.” Ronon plucked the flowers off of his head, cast them into the water, grabbed Evan’s hand, turned, and ran.

Evan stumbled along behind him, terrified and elated all at once, and then he found his stride, matched Ronon’s pace, and together they swept through the kingdom, up the valley to the narrow pass where Ronon and his troupe always met.

“What now?” Evan asked.

“Now we find the others, and we join them.” Ronon looked at him. Without the flowers, the weight of the crown, Evan looked - younger. Lighter. Happier. “What about your family?”

Evan bit his lip, glanced over his shoulder. 

Lorna was walking toward them.

Ronon straightened up, wary. Evan stepped in front of him - to protect him from whatever was coming.

But Lorna was smiling. She held out a pack. “It has provisions for the road,” she said.

“Mother,” Evan began.

She silenced him with a gesture. Then she reached out, tucked a single blue blossom into his hair, and kissed him on the brow. “You have your understanding, my son. Go, be happy. And be welcome here any time you come back.”

Evan pulled her into a tight embrace, held her, whispered something to her. Then she pulled back, and she turned to Ronon.

“Take care of my son,” she said, and she handed him a matching blue blossom.

“Thank you, Queen.” He tucked the flower into his hair, wary of the thorns.

Lorna handed Evan the pack, embraced him one more time, then turned and walked away, back down into the valley.

Evan and Ronon watched her go, and then they stood for a long time after she was gone and listened to the distant roar of the sea.

Then they opened Ronon’s journal, searched the maps, found the path that would take them to meet up with John’s troupe the fastest, and started to walk.

“So shall I draw for you?” Evan asked. “To earn my keep?”

Ronon nodded. “If you like. Or you could learn to dance, or fight, or sing.”

Evan reached out, slipped his hand into Ronon’s. “I can already draw, so I’ll start with that. With time, I suppose, I can learn the others. Teach me a song.”

“Tonight,” Ronon said, “I’m singing for one person. The young man with a blue flower in his hair.” And he lifted up his voice and sang the very first song he ever sang for Evan.

_ Well open up your mind and see like me _ __  
_ Open up your mind and damn you’re free _ __  
_ Look into your heart and you’ll find _ __  
_ The sky is yours _ __  
_ So please don’t _ __  
_ There’s no need to complicate _ __  
_ ’Cause our time is short _ __  
_ This, oh this is our fate _ _  
_ _I’m yours_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the incredible Brumeier and SherlockianSyndromes for being lovely betas and getting this across the finish line, because the original ending was terrible.
> 
> Songs:
> 
> I'm Yours by Jason Mraz (also the source of the title)  
> Beautiful by Monsta X (lyrics translated here: https://colorcodedlyrics.com/2017/03/monsta-x-beautiful-aleumdawo)


End file.
